


Running When You Call My Name

by kirayukikira



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, SERIOUSLY GUYS DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED BY SUICIDE, Suicide, suicide TW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:18:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2393198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirayukikira/pseuds/kirayukikira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles traced his hand delicately on his dresser, closing his eyes. A single tear gathered in his right eye as he remembered what had happened here, not days ago. His bags had been packed, he had been so ready to leave, so ready to be gone... After everything that happened in the past few months, after Allison... he really had nothing to hold on to anymore. He and Scott weren't really close anymore, not after the whole Nogistune debacle. Everyone in the pack had essentially abandoned him, had left him to... Sort out the mess of emotions and fragmented memories bungling about in his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

**Slight AU after season 3b. Suicide trigger warning.**

**I recommend listening to[this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjZwqWJGj8Y) while reading.**

**I do not own Teen Wolf, or any of the characters.**

* * *

 

Stiles traced his hand delicately on his dresser, closing his eyes. A single tear gathered in his right eye as he remembered what had happened here, not days ago. His bags had been packed, he had been so ready to leave, so ready to be gone... After everything that happened in the past few months, after Allison... he really had nothing to hold on to anymore. He and Scott weren't really close anymore, not after the whole Nogistune debacle. Everyone in the pack had essentially abandoned him, had left him to... Sort out the mess of emotions and fragmented memories bungling about in his head.

  
And sort it out he did, no thanks to Scott. No thanks to anyone. He'd packed his bags, written all the notes, and took his dad's gun from the safe in his room. He'd just wanted everything to end, the pain, the regret, the loneliness... It wasn't good up have him around, it wasn't _safe_. He'd only damage everyone around him. They'd just leave again. They'd leave him. He wasn't... Right.  
  
He was sure they'd read the notes, he was sure they wouldn't _do_ anything. One for each of them, for Scott, for Lydia, for Kira, hell, even for Derek, telling them how he'd felt. Not really sure why he'd bothered, though, it wasn't as though they cared. And one for his dad, explaining everything. That it wasn't his fault. That it was Stiles, only Stiles, broken, damaged, dangerous Stiles. He hoped he'd understand. That was the one regret he'd had, leaving his dad. But the cons of him living way outweighed the pros. He remembered how the gun had felt, cold metal, as it sat heavily in the palm of his hand. He remembered the click of the safety as he switched it off. The sharp tears that stung his eyes as he lifted the gun up to his head, finger on the trigger. The air in his lungs as he took a deep breath, and the warm hand pulling it away.  
  
He remembered how he had looked up, to find Derek Hale looking down at him. He remembered  his surprise, his shock, his remorse, his embarrassment as he stared into those hazel eyes and just _broke down_. The hit tears that ran down his face as _Derek_ , not Scott, not Lydia, not Kira, not even his father, held him, and comforted him, and told him that everything would be okay. He remembered afterwards, when the sobs had stopped wracking his chest, how he had pressed his soft lips up against Derek's rough ones, how Derek had kissed him back, how as they kissed, Stiles could swear he felt tears running down Derek's face, salty and hot and wet to match his own. He remembered breaking for air, finally, after an eternity of clashing tongues, to look up into Derek's soft hazel eyes, how Derek had said one simple word, just a simple 'Hey', murmured into Stiles's lips, and how Stiles knew there didn't need to be a response, that it was okay to just lie there, still, and snuggle up to Derek as he drew small circles with his fingers on Stiles's back. How they had fallen asleep, together, just like that, and, just like that, everything didn't seem so bad anymore.

 

* * *

 

**Thanks for reading! I might do another one from Derek's POV, if anyone is interested. If you are, please message me.**

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's pov

  

 

**For Sara, and[ToffeeBiscuit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ToffeeBiscuit) **

**Enjoy!**

 

* * *

 

 

After the fire, Derek had been absolutely wrecked. Had clung to Laura, to Peter, to the ashes where his family had been. He clung to sadness, and anger, and he had clung to pain. He had clung to regret most of all. It was his fault, wasn't it? It was his fault for letting Kate in - he knew it was her, even if no one said so. And he knew it was his fault; even though no one said it, it was hidden in the stares of Laura and Peter. 

So he had tried to find some way to escape. They had run away, from Beacon Hills to New York, and tried to find something to do. It wasn't like they needed to work; the life insurance policy had been enough. But nobody wanted to use that, it was blood money. But it wasn't enough. They could have travelled to the far ends of the earth, but they could never escape. It was his fault they could never escape. He was a burden, a constant reminder of what had happened. They would be better off without him. So when he was eighteen, he had left. Packed his bags, took some money, and hopped on a bus to God knows where. All that was left of him at the apartment was a lingering scent and a note scrawled out in messy handwriting on the kitchen table. 

It wasn't like they could do anything, even if they wanted to. Derek was very careful about not leaving any tracks. He had caused enough damage already.

They'd found him though, at nineteen, passed out with a needle in his arm. Funny right? Big, strong werewolf taken out by a little needle. Of course, he hadn't been a big strong werewolf then. But, still. They'd thought it was drugs, at first. The cops, obviously. But Laura would have recognized the toxic smell that permeated the room anywhere.

Wolfsbane.

She knew, of course she knew, that Derek's intention wasn't to get high, that he wasn't doing this for fun. That he was looking for an end. 

She got him help, dragged him kicking and screaming into a mental hospital, where he sat for six months before he said a word. When he finally spoke, it was like every emotion he had ever had came pouring out. A flood of tears and stale memories that came pouring out with gentle nudging. It took him another month to even begin to say the word "suicide." It took him three months more to sort everything out, and another two to smile again. He was free.

 

 

* * *

 

He had been in his apartment when he saw the note. Messy, hyperactive, all over the place, just like the person who wrote it. It seemed inscribed with clear, calculated, precision,  date and time present at the bottom. Short, sweet, and to the point, a soft farewell lay at the bottom next to the name.

Derek had assumed, of course, that there was no way that Stiles was completely okay. Granted, the kid was a talented liar, speaking in half-truths and mangled sentences, but Derek still cursed himself for not being able to smell the blood on the kid's wrists, the blood he so clearly thought was his fault. 

He had called Scott, to check and see if maybe he was there. But the kid was clueless. He was bitter, after Allison's death, and had retreated, leaving Stiles alone. 

Alone.

That's what Stiles was, right now, and what Derek had been, all those years ago. And loneliness had one solution.

Derek had climbed into the car without second thought.

When he had crawled, silently, through the kid's window, and found him sitting on the bed, shaking, gun held up to his head, his heart broke. Tears gathered in his own eyes, and he could have sworn he smelled wolfsbane mixed with the fear and tears that filled the room. He reached up to the gun, and wrapped his thick fingers around the boys thinner ones, and slowly pulled the gun away from his head. Derek switched the safety on and placed it on his desk. He turned to face Stiles, and before he knew it, lips were on lips, and his hand was cupping Stiles face. All that he couldn't say with his words he could say with his tongue, little I love you's and I care about you's and It's not your fault's were encased in every caress. 

When they finally broke for air, they sat there, nose to nose, breathing heavily, Derek only said one word.

"Hey,"

Stiles had laughed and wiped the tears lingering on his face away, and they had fallen asleep on the bed together, Stiles safe in Derek's arm.

Derek didn't even want to  _think_ about what the Sheriff would say.

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
